LITMIR.BIZ

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Title Page

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

      THE ALARM ON LUKE SLOAN’S clock radio went off at 6:00 a.m.

      Luke rolled over on his belly, reached out and slapped it to silence with a perfect aim born of familiarity.

      Five minutes later, the alarm screamed again. This time, he let it ring long enough for the unholy shrieking to pierce his sleep-fogged brain. Then he opened one eye, reached out and flipped the switch from Alarm to Radio.

      “Cloudy this morning . . . ” a voice said with effusive good cheer, “with showers this afternoon and evening. Heavier cloudbursts possible overnight and tomorrow . . . ”

      Luke grunted. Rain and more rain. What a surprise. The guy doing the weather sounded as if he’d just discovered he was living in Seattle.

      Rolling onto his back, he stacked his hands beneath his head as the weatherman finally shut up and an old Doors tune came on. Jim Morrison still wanted somebody to light his fire. Luke listened for a couple of minutes, then decided the only thing that would get his fire lit was a pair of extra-strength aspirin.

      He sat up, silenced the radio and headed for the bathroom. His head hurt, his mouth was dry and his sinuses felt like they’d been stuffed with quick-hardening cement. It would have been nice to blame it all on last night’s celebratory stop at the Nine-Thirty-One Tavern with Dan, but he couldn’t.

      Dan had ordered a beer; Luke had ordered a shot of rock and rye.

      “Cold coming on,” he’d said when Dan looked at him as if he’d just sprouted horns.

      “Ah.” Dan had nodded as he scooped up a handful of peanuts and popped a couple in his mouth. “I was wondering why you looked like day-old crap.”

      “Thank you,” Luke replied. “I really needed to hear that.”

      “Why don’t you come home with me? Molly made chicken soup yesterday. A couple of bowls, you’ll feel like a new man.”

      “Thanks, but I think what I need is a good night’s sleep.”

      Lacey, a stacked brunette barmaid with a way of looking at Luke as if he had a big red S on his chest, leaned over the bar.

      “How about coming home with me? I’ll open a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle. It’s not homemade, but there are other things I can do to make you feel like a new man.”

      “Oh, to be thirty-five and single again,” Dan joked.

      Luke had grinned and exchanged the expected male-female banter with Lacey, but he’d gone home without either Lacey or a cup of Molly’s soup. He loved Molly like a sister. As for Lacey . . . a man would have to be blind not to see that she was a stunner.

      But if he went home with Dan, Molly would ply him with soup while she talked up her latest “find,” a single woman who was, she’d assure him, everything he wanted in a woman.

      And if he went home with Lacey, he’d just complicate his life. She’d ply him with the lush pleasures of her body, and afterward, she’d expect . . . what? Maybe just a smile. Then again, based on the looks she’d been tossing at him lately, maybe more than that.

      More was the last thing Luke wanted. As the saying went, he’d been there, done that—done it legally, moreover, marriage license, chapel and all—and it hadn’t worked.

      So he

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